


don't wanna be a proud man, just wanna be a man

by idrilka



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilka/pseuds/idrilka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So do you guys know if there are any people playing D&D in the area?” Stony asks on the first day of camp.</i>
</p><p>Or: if you'd told Kent in the off-season that he'd be hooking up with his rookie's hot nerd of a brother, he would've <i>laughed</i>. (He’d still have gone for it, though.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't wanna be a proud man, just wanna be a man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pugglemuggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pugglemuggle/gifts).



> Dear Pugglemuggle! I really hope you like your gift! It was a really fun story to write, and I can only hope you enjoy the end result!  
> Title from Noah Gundersen's _David_.

“So do you guys know if there are any people playing D&D in the area?” Stony asks on the first day of camp.

He’s a good kid—got drafted in the second round back in two thousand thirteen, has done his two years on the farm team, and it’s looking like he might actually make the roster this year. They could use some fresh blood on the blue line.

Of all the questions Kent expected a rookie to ask at camp, this certainly wasn’t one of them.

Next to Kent, Jeff bursts out laughing. 

“Stony, what the fuck?” he says, incredulous. “We had no idea you were a giant fucking _nerd_.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for my brother,” Stony informs them as he continues to stretch right on center ice. “He’s moving to Vegas for a job and he’s looking for a new group. He plays fifth edition, if that helps.”

“Stony, that’s _gay_ ,” says Bryce, who’s always seemed like a giant douchebag, but it’s nice to have a confirmation.

“Yeah?” Stony says, turning to him, a bit of an edge in his voice. “Well, funny thing, because so is he.”

And okay, Kent _definitely_ likes this kid. 

After years spent in a hockey locker room, he’s mostly immune to all the shit some guys like to fling around without a second thought, because you have to be, otherwise you’re not gonna last a season in this league, but it still fucking stings sometimes. 

And the thing is—the team knows, at least the guys on the regular roster, because after two Cups and more awards than he could fit on his mantle, Kent just can’t really bring himself to give much of a fuck about what people think about him, and with Jack out of the closet and happily involved with the blond guy Kent vaguely remembers from the rager he’d gone to, there’s not really that much at stake anymore, except for Kent’s own life, and he doesn’t really give a shit anymore. So he doesn’t really talk about it to the press or to the public, but he doesn’t exactly try to hide either. 

Glass closets are—well, they are certainly a thing. 

So the team knows, and Kent assumes the guys from Henderson know, too, because hockey players are nosy motherfuckers who love gossip, and it’s inevitable, with players moving up and down between the minors and the main show. Guys like Bryce, though—they just can’t be helped, because they love to talk shit, even when they know they’re essentially mouthing off to their captain. 

“Whatever, it’s cool,” Stony continues with a shrug. “He’s a tiefling warlock, and—”

Macky skates over to pat him on the shoulder.

“Kid, just…quit while you’re ahead,” he says. “Your brother is a nerd, you’re a nerd, we get it.”

Stony flips him off just as Paul gets out onto the ice to start the drills. Macky just grins behind his back, the asshole.

.

Stony makes the team, just as predicted, and Kent takes the rookies who finally made it to the show out to celebrate on the last day of the camp, once the fans are gone and the team gathers all their shit before they get going, because Kent is _good_ at this captaincy shit. 

They go to a great Korean restaurant that’s fancy but not _too_ fancy, because this is not some black tie affair or anything, just a few guys hanging out with their new captain.

Three guys from the farm team made the roster this year, which is more than Kent expected, with how the front office was trading left and right this summer for more depth on the forward lines and on the defense. Stony is the youngest of them at just twenty, but the two other guys have four seasons in the minors under their belts, and they’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, considering. Kent doesn’t know if he could take _four_ years in the minors without being called up at least once, but—as vain as it might sound—he also realizes that not all players are him, and for some, playing hockey—any hockey, anywhere that will have them—is enough. 

They all seem to almost vibrate out of their skin with excitement as the hostess leads them to their table. 

“I can’t believe I finally fucking made it,” Timmer says, moving in to fist-bump Braggs. 

“Hell yeah, fucking _dope_.” Braggs grins. 

They order and Kent lets the three of them talk their excitement out amongst themselves, happy to just listen to the chatter. He remembers his own rookie year—the Aces had no captain, just three As, and Kent was the only rookie to make the team straight from the draft, miserable and fucked up, and pissed off at himself and the world. 

When he arrived in Vegas, he spent the first year of his ELC living in a small apartment by himself, because he didn’t want to room with any of the married guys, and there were no other rookies he could share with. 

These three are already planning to rent a house somewhere in the suburbs and live together, at least for the first year. 

“So, Stony,” Timmer asks over his bibimbap some time later, “what does your nerd brother even do? Besides playing D&D, I mean.”

“He’s an accountant, works at a law firm,” Stony says, still chewing, and suddenly Kent understands how his mother feels whenever he or Sam speak with their mouth full. “They’re transferring him to their new branch that just opened in Vegas.”

Braggs whistles. “Holy shit, that’s _not_ what I expected.”

“Gotta say, that happens to Garrett pretty often,” Stony says. “For various reasons. But don’t worry, you’re gonna meet him when we throw a housewarming party. He’s coming to Vegas like next week.”

.

The rookies throw their housewarming party two weeks before the beginning of the pre-season. 

Kent comes in late with a crate of microbrew beer and another crate of wine, because he’s a good captain who has their backs, and when he pushes the front door open to enter, everyone is already out back in the garden, the party in full swing.

He navigates the ground floor for a moment, trying to find the kitchen to dump the booze in the fridge before he joins the rest of the team. When he finally does locate the kitchen, all flat surfaces are already covered in solo cups and pizza boxes, so he makes some space on the counter by the fridge, then shoves aside the protein shakes sitting on one of the shelves and stuffs the beer inside. He has no idea what to do with the wine. 

“Need a hand with that?” someone asks from behind Kent.

When Kent turns around, he forgets for a moment that the fridge door is still open, radiating cold.

The guy in front of him—well, the words _giant ginger lumberjack_ come to mind, and, look, Kent is a pro at keeping a lid on that stuff, but there’s no denying that the guy is fucking _hot_.

“Yeah, hi, I just need someplace cold to put this stuff, and there’s no space in the fridge,” he says, pointing to the crate of wine. 

“Right, sure,” the guy says, walking into the kitchen like he knows this place—or at least knows it better than Kent does, which, admittedly, is not that hard. “You’re Kent Parson, right? Eli told me you’d be coming by, too. I’m Garrett.”

The guy— _Garrett_ , who looks _nothing_ like an accountant should look in Kent’s mind—reaches out a hand for Kent to shake. 

“Kent,” he says. Garrett has a strong, sure grip—no fucking surprise there. “Nice to meet you. I heard a lot about you.”

Garrett gives him an appraising look, like he’s trying to figure something out, then smiles. 

“Only good things, I hope,” he says. 

Kent leans against the counter, trying to look casual. 

“Sure,” he says. “I just, you know, when Stony said _accountant_ and _D &D_, this is not exactly what I—”

Garrett interrupts him with a laugh.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

There’s a short pause, then Kent says, “You _sure_ you’re not a hockey player? With that bulk, we could use you on the blue line.”

Garrett hauls the crate of wine into the pantry, then turns back to Kent. 

“Pretty sure, yeah,” he says. “I’m afraid my brother is gonna have to do, as far as bulk on the blue line is concerned. I don’t think the league could take _two_ Stonebrooks at the same time.”

Kent lifts an eyebrow. “Hey, you never know until you try. I’m pretty sure this league can take _a lot_.”

They’re finally interrupted when Stony walks into the kitchen and halts in the doorway as soon as he notices the two of them.

“Oh, hey, you made it!” he says, excitement in his voice. “And you met Garrett!”

“Yeah, your bro is a pretty cool guy,” Kent says, then pauses with a grin, “for an _accountant_.”

The corners of Garrett’s mouth twitch. “It’s about the D&D thing, isn’t it? Look, times have changed, all the cool kids are doing it.”

Kent smothers a laugh.

.

Ten minutes later, they make it back to the garden and Kent gets himself a drink, settling down to watch the game of volleyball that’s going on in the far corner of the backyard, by the pool. 

It’s not a huge party, but Kent likes it better that way—he’s never been a fan of big crowds of nameless people, except back when he was a lot more closeted and a lot less reconciled with the hand his life has dealt him, when anonymity meant safety. But even then, it only served a purpose. 

The rookies look happy and the rest of the guys seem like they’re having fun; there’s a karaoke contest going on inside the house, and outside, there’s a vicious game of beer pong underway. Kent mostly sits back, chatting with people when they come by, but taking a backseat just a little bit. This is the rookies’ big day, and Kent knows he has a big presence and a big personality, but this—this is not about him, not really.

As the party slowly starts to mellow out around eight, the unoccupied chair to his right scrapes against the terracotta tile, and Garrett takes a seat next to Kent, offering him a refill of his drink and a joint. 

“Thanks,” Kent says, taking the drink and the joint. He doesn’t do drugs as a rule, except sometimes a hit or two of weed at parties, but pills are always out. It makes him sick to his stomach, even thinking about it, even after all this time. 

He takes a deep drag, then another, passes the joint back to Garrett. 

“I didn’t know _accountants_ did weed,” he says with emphasis, laughing under his breath. 

“We all gotta get our fun somewhere,” Garrett says, closing his eyes, and Kent idly observes the way his mouth moves, watches the way his lips close around the butt of the joint. “It’s either weed or D&D, and I heard you’re not a fan of rolling dice.”

He opens his eyes, catching Kent still staring at his mouth. _Busted_.

“So did you always want to work in accounting?” Kent asks, taking a drink of his beer. “Or was that just how things turned out?”

Garrett shrugs. “I played football in college, linebacker, but didn’t really want to go pro or anything,” he says. “I did have some scouts after me, but, you know. Playing pro ball wasn’t really my thing, not if I wanted to be out and still play, and back in my day, there were no out players in the NFL. And even then…”

“Yeah, I know,” Kent says. “Hockey’s the same, if not worse. I mean, I’m not exactly _out_ , either.”

He reaches out his hand for the joint, and when he looks to the side, Garrett is watching him with an inscrutable expression. 

“But anyway, it’s a good job, I can’t exactly complain,” he says. “And I’m fucking _good_ at it. What about you, though? Always wanted to play hockey?”

“More or less, yeah,” Kent says, nodding. He feels relaxed and mellow, and comfortable. “I was like six, I think, saw the Red Wings win the Cup on tv and knew I wanted to do _that_ for the rest of my life. Then my dad left when I was like ten? Eleven? So money was pretty tight, and I wasn’t an only child, but my mom managed to keep me playing. Been paying off that debt ever since, y’know?”

Garrett nods. 

“So how do you like Vegas?” Kent asks after a while. 

The half-smoked joint is now snuffed out, propped against the makeshift ashtray, and it’s almost like they’re really adults now, getting high _responsibly_.

“It’s pretty cool,” Garrett says, playing with a balled-up napkin. “It’s not my first time here, but I usually stayed for like two-three days. It’s quite the change from Chicago, y’know, long-term.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me,” Kent says. “New York, born and bred. And I played in Rimouski in the juniors. So that was…an adjustment. Worked out for the best, though.”

Garrett looks at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kent nods. “I had a lot of unfinished shit back on the East Coast. Clean break, and all that.”

Garrett downs the last of his drink, then puts the bottle away. 

“Understandable,” he says.

.

He’s refilling his glass with water, because he’s fucking responsible like that, when Jeff ambushes him in the kitchen and says with emphasis, “Parse, don’t fuck the rookie’s brother.”

Kent gives him the finger out of habit more than anything else.

“Shut up, Jeff, don’t tell me what to do,” he says. 

“Wow, not even a word of protest. You must be _really_ into that guy.”

Kent shrugs, then downs his water, pours himself another glass. 

“He’s fucking hot, okay,” he says. “And I haven’t gotten laid in forever, so if he wants to hook up, who am I to say no.”

They’ve been dancing this dance practically ever since that moment in the kitchen—Kent doesn’t know if he slipped up back then, or if that came later, with the lingering looks at Garrett’s mouth and the admission—as straightforward as it gets—of being gay, but Kent _knows_ when he’s being flirted with. And he’s definitely being flirted with.

When he gets back there, Garrett is still sitting in the same chair, scrolling through his phone. He looks over his shoulder when he sees Kent approach and smiles. He has _dimples_ that can be seen even through his scruff, and that’s just unfair.

“Everything okay back there?” he asks. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Kent says. “Got myself properly hydrated and everything. I think I’m starting to sober up.”

He wasn’t even that tipsy or that high to begin with, but now even the last of the effects start to slowly subside. 

“Yeah, me too,” Garrett says. “I don’t work on Sundays, but I really don’t do hangovers anymore.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, observing the people milling about the garden. It’s less crowded than it was before, with many of the people ditching the outdoors to join the karaoke contest inside.

“Okay, so how about we cut the crap here, yeah?” Kent says after a few minutes. “Just level with me for a moment. You seem like a pretty straightforward guy, and so am I, so how about this: if you wanna, we could bail right now and go back to my place, and see what happens. Sound good?”

Garrett looks down for a moment, then back up at Kent. 

“Oh, really, hotshot?” he says. The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. 

“Look, I’m game if you are,” Kent says, leaning in slightly. “Like, you know, just a buddies thing, right?”

Garrett seems to consider this for a moment, then rises to his feet and reaches out to Kent to pull him up from his seat. 

“Okay,” he says eventually. “Let’s do this thing.”

.

They’re both completely sober by the time they get back to Kent’s place, and Rob the doorman doesn’t even blink when they walk in at around eleven, Kent’s shirt already half-unbuttoned. If anyone asked Kent, Rob the doorman totally doesn’t get paid enough for putting up with the rich folks’ shit. 

Garrett whistles when Kent lets them into the penthouse. 

“ _Nice_ ,” he says, looking around at the floor-high windows and the panorama of Las Vegas stretching out before them. “Maybe I should’ve stuck with football if professional sports pay _that well_.”

Kent laughs. “Want something to drink? I don’t have any booze at home, but there’s water or, like,” he rummages around the fridge for a moment, “lemonade or some other shit.”

“Nah, I think I’m good,” Garrett says, and when Kent turns around, closing the fridge, he’s right there, just two steps behind, leaning against the marble countertop. 

“So what now?” Kent asks as Garrett crowds him against the fridge. He sees the way Garrett’s eyes drop down to Kent’s mouth, and Kent swallows. 

“I don’t know,” Garrett says, teasing. “It’s your place, how about you tell me.”

Kent pretends to consider this for a moment. 

“Well, I might have a few ideas…” he says right before Garrett pops another button of Kent’s plaid shirt open. 

“Oh, really,” he says. 

“Yeah, really,” Kent says as he pulls him down by the nape of his neck and kisses him. “How about that?” he asks once they break apart after a long moment, slightly out of breath. 

“Yeah, that works pretty well, I think.” Garrett drops the hand that’s been cradling the side of Kent’s face down to his belt and undoes the buckle. “But I could suggest a few improvements. Like a bed and less clothes.”

Kent grins.

“That could certainly be arranged.”

In the bedroom, Kent doesn’t waste much time being coy—it’s way past that point, he thinks, when they’re both well on their way to hard and it’s pretty clear already where, exactly, this entire thing is heading. Garrett seems to agree, judging by the way they’re both out of their clothes as soon as the door closes behind them. 

“Gotta say,” Garrett says a few minutes later, kneeling between Kent’s legs and slowly stroking him, “I had _no idea_ that was how my day would end.” He leans down and kisses the place where Kent’s groin meets his hip. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

“Believe me,” Kent says, then bites into his lips as Garrett’s lips close around his cock, “neither did I.”

The thing is—Kent got enough head in his life to know when someone is good at it, and Garrett is really, _really_ good at it. With Jack, it was always teenage fumbling and lots of trial and error, though Kent guesses they both grew out of it at some point, and with the guys Kent has been hooking up with over the years, it ranged from passable to pretty good, but this—this is blowing Kent’s mind just a little bit, and he thought he was by now pretty jaded in the ways of the bedroom.

Apparently not. 

Kent sort of wants to close his eyes and just lie back and enjoy it, but he also wants to keep watching the way Garrett gets so into it, observing the little, jerky movements of his hips against the sheets as he swallows Kent down with a muffled moan, until Kent can feel the way his throat contracts and releases, and then he’s coming, toes curled and fingers gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles go white, biting down on his lower lip to keep quiet, because old habits die hard. 

He feels almost wrung out by his orgasm, but he still reaches for Garrett as soon as he comes up for air, crushing their lips together; they breathe the same air more than they kiss, but that’s enough for the moment. 

Once he catches his breath, he reaches into the nightstand for a bottle of lube and hands it to Garrett. 

“Just…between the thighs, yeah?” he says, his voice hoarse, and he can hear the sound Garrett makes behind him as he slowly spreads the lube on the insides of Kent’s thighs. He can’t help the smile—he saw the way Garrett looked at his thighs and ass earlier; Kent might be on the smaller side for a hockey player, but he’s still built like one, strong and muscular. The abs are not just for show. 

It’s been a while since he’s done this, and it starts off feeling a little strange, but as soon as he can hear the sound of Garrett’s warm breath that ghosts over his neck and feel the way he props his forehead against Kent’s back just to pepper his shoulder with kisses a moment later, it all clicks into place. There’s no way he can come again that soon, but he still enjoys Garrett’s hand wrapped around him loosely as he fucks Kent’s thighs, and when Garrett finally comes with his mouth pressed against Kent’s shoulder, his hips stuttering against Kent’s ass, he almost, almost thinks he could be up for another round, his body at the same time pliant and feverish, his lips still tingling from kissing.

They end up kissing for a while as they cool down—lazy, open-mouthed kisses that are more pressure than anything else, both of them too tired and too winded to really commit.

Kent usually doesn’t do that with his hookups. Kent usually doesn’t bring his hookups home in the first place, or at least not that often, but he and Garrett really _clicked_ in a way that hasn’t happened in a while. 

He usually doesn’t have his hookups stay the night, either, but this time, when he sits up on the bed and looks back at Garrett, still sweaty and completely, unabashedly naked, he just asks, “Water or gatorade?”

.

Kent wakes up early, because he always does—it’s a routine that’s ingrained so deeply into him that he doesn’t even need to set his alarm, most days, but he still does, since being a healthy scratch because you _accidentally overslept_ is embarrassing and not the kind of behavior any captain should display. 

When he rolls over, Garrett is sprawled out on the other side of the bed, one arm flung across his face, the other one hanging off the edge of the bed. Kent resists the urge to prod him and tries to go back to sleep, or at least nap for a while, because it’s Sunday, and it’s his day off, and it’s _Garrett’s_ day off, and neither of them deserves to get up at half past six. 

It works, mostly—the next time Kent opens his eyes, the sun is higher up in the sky, coming into the bedroom through the huge window, and Garrett is already awake. 

“Hey,” he says as soon as he notices that Kent is up, too. “So…this isn’t weird. I expected it to be weird, you know, considering. What with my little bro being your teammate and all that.”

Kent bursts out laughing, then rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah, believe me, I’ve had weirder,” he says. “This is not weird at all.”

“So, breakfast?” Garrett asks, propping himself up on his elbow. “My treat.”

Before Kent can answer, Garrett’s phone chimes with an incoming message and he reaches down to where his jeans are lying by the bed to fish it out of the pocket. 

“Is Stony sending out a search party and asking why you defiled my virtue?” Kent asks.

Garrett shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, it’s just my DM letting us know she needs to reschedule our next session.”

Kent nudges his calf with his big toe. “Ah, right, the only viable alternative to weed, as far as fun is concerned.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you tried it.” Garrett laughs and texts back. “We could roll you a nice character, a paladin or, like, a monk or something. Monks are cool.”

Kent laughs, too. “Yeah, nice try, but no dice, if you pardon my pun.”

“One: that was awful, and two: hey, you never know,” Garrett says, stretching out beneath the sheets, one leg hanging off the side of the bed. 

“We’ll see,” Kent says, laughing. Kit pads softly into the bedroom and jumps straight onto his chest, demanding attention. “Maybe I’ll come watch you and your group of nerds play, or something. I can make drinks or whatever.”

Garrett reaches over to scratch Kit behind the ears, and Kent watches as the furry traitor gets up and marches across the bed to curl up in the curve of Garrett’s hip.

“Okay, then,” Garrett says with a smile. “It’s a date.”


End file.
